


Head over Heels

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Power Exchange, Smut, and sappiness, cutting mention, emotional healing through kinky sex, the other side of their coin, they go hand in hand with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: *Denerim, a few days before the LandsmeetIn which our intrepid lovers explore the other option for power exchange,  seal their commitment, and develop a fabric kink.





	1. Chapter 1

She wakes up slowly but it still doesn't take long; she was only dozing in the chair and the feel of his head resting on her thigh is more than enough to perk her up. It’s tempting to join him on the floor, but he looks so content she can't bring herself to disturb him, contents herself instead with petting and stroking his head. They've been in Denerim for three days and they've been busy the whole time. They're lucky in that they've been able to work side by side but the nature of the work itself has left them with little time to enjoy each other. To simply sit and feel him under her fingertips, feel the weight of his head on her leg, that's enough for a long stretch of minutes.   

   

But there's alchemy between her fingers and his skin, the magic they generate when they touch. The last two nights they've been too tired for anything more than stock sex, just enough to convince their bodies to let them sleep. Experience tells her they can go on like that for only so long. Sex is never just about their bodies. It's about their hearts and minds, how they connect and replenish, how they find the strength of purpose to keep doing what they must. He doesn't want to be King and she doesn't want to be a Warden, but here they are; the only thing that makes them able to choose it is knowing the other comes with it.  

   

They need each other, need their magic, and as she strokes the side of his head, as he lifts into her touch, she feels it sparking around them. The only good part about having to wait is moments like this, when things start building and she knows they're in for quite a time. She starts to move from the chair to join him on the floor, but he reaches up and holds her by the hips, keeping her in place.  

   

"No. Please."   

   

The words are softly muffled against her thigh but it's enough. Every time time he's come to her room and found her dozing, she realizes, he's simply picked her up to tuck them both in bed or sit down to cuddle her in his lap. Tonight, though, he chose the floor, and she smiles as she understands he's finally found the need to kneel for her. After the last three days the pressure is firmly on, and for the first time it's resting heavier on him than her. For all that Eamon can't be seen as using Alistair to get to the crown, neither can she. Their natural flow of his obvious devotion and her quietly determined command won't work here, not for this. When it comes to Warden business, she takes charge, but when it comes to defeating Loghain, it's all on him, by choice and by necessity.  

   

She wants to tease him about already needing a break, but she won't. Not only is it potentially hurtful, it's also not true. She knows him well enough to understand he doesn't really need a break. He just needs to know when he does, it will be there—she will be there—waiting for him. 

  

“Why tonight?” It doesn't matter, but she can't help her curiosity.  

   

He laughs against her thigh, and she doesn’t need to look down to know he’s blushing. “Something rude I overheard today that won’t get out of my head.”  

   

She scoots down in the chair to move her crotch closer to his mouth. She keeps her hand on his head, pressing a bit harder, making sure he understands to stay right where he is. “Tell me.”   

   

“At the Noble, someone made the remark that it’s easy to tell I’m Maric’s son. All you have to do is look for the determined blonde leading me by the dick.”  

    

They've failed so miserably at hiding their relationship, she can’t help but smile. “And you’d like me to do that?”  

   

"Yes. Please." It's more whisper than words, quieter than she's ever heard him.  

   

She can feel his hot breath through the thin cotton of her gown, so unexpectedly arousing she must fight the urge to pull it up and spread her legs. "Figuratively or literally?"  

   

"Yes. Please." He's still quiet but she can hear amusement too.  

   

She's coming undone at the feel of his breath and she wants to laugh at how the simplest things drive her crazy with lust for him. She scoots down more and spreads her thighs, still managing to keep her gown in place. She doesn't say anything, just pets his head and holds him against her, waiting for his breathing to quicken, for him to look up with his eyes burning for her.  

   

"You know my rules will not be the same as yours, yes?" She lets him get away with a nod, not waiting for him to correct himself and answer out loud. "Tell me what's off limits."  

   

"Nothing."  

   

It's the same answer she always gives but she still can't keep one eyebrow from going up. "Are you sure about that? What if I want to carve my initials into your chest?"  

   

That's a direct hit and the best part is she wasn't even trying. It was the first thing that came to mind, but his immediate, heated blush makes her think maybe she should consider it. She goes back to watching and waiting, making him be the one to speak first.  

   

"Do you really want to do that?" He sounds torn between hope and fear, not looking up to give her any clues.  

   

"Well I do now." She watches him for a few moments, because she can, because he's such a beautiful sight, but more than anything because he loves it when she does. In no time he tilts his head, so he can watch her watch him.  

   

She's spent many a day’s travel imagining this very moment, always wondering how it might go, what it will feel like to make the subtext of their relationship the full text, if only for one night. Wondering, too, if they'll be opening a door they can't easily shut. Until now their power imbalance has been only a surface thing. Will the same hold true come morning?  

   

"Promise me you'll tell me no if you need to. That you won't let me go too far. Or be mean, anything like that. Don't let me become an entitled bitch."  

   

He smiles up at her and breaks the scene long enough to gently bite the inside of her thigh, laughing against her leg when she flexes up to meet his mouth. "That's just it, my love, the fact that you worry about it tells me I don't have to. You'll be fine, trust me."  


	2. Chapter 2

Everything jams up as she tries to think of what she wants to do first. The possibilities are endless, everything from fun to far too serious for their first attempt at this particular dance step. Like always, she wants everything, immediately and at once.  

   

She leans over and gently pulls him up to her, to kiss him softly and whisper against his mouth. "I'm going to get up. I'd like you to stay where you are; just put your head down on the seat and relax. Close your eyes and settle into the idea of this."   

   

"Are there rules?" he asks, half hesitant and half amused, like he either has no clue what her answer will be or knows exactly.   

   

With a soft laugh, a kiss and playful nip at his lips, she murmurs her delight. "Of course, sweetness. Can you guess what they are?"   

   

"The exact opposite of mine?" Amusement is winning out, making him grin wide.   

   

"There you go. You are to follow every single impulse you have, verbal or physical. You can say whatever you want, you can hide in any manner you need. There will be no infractions or punishments. If you don't want to do something, don't want to follow my command, we'll simply call it a night and go to sleep."   

   

His grin slips, although his eyes lose none of their amusement. "Why does this suddenly sound too easy?"   

   

"Because you have no idea where I'm headed with it, darling. Trust me, you're going to wish for a gag order before I'm done with you."   

 

Another direct hit and she's so besotted by his reaction she must kiss him again, spend a few moments whispering her love into his ear. It's a chore to drag herself away from him and she's thoroughly amused that it's starting out harder on her than him.   

 

It doesn't take long to set the stage as there's only so much at hand, but imagination works wonders in this impromptu moment. She moves a long, low table in front of the fire and covers it with pillows and blankets, making it soft and comfortable for extended kneeling. Another stroke of inspiration gets her searching for a parcel from her afternoon market spree, five yards of dark blue velvet to spread over the pillows, to fluff and feather and make a perfect saddle for him to straddle. She steps back and regards it for a moment, tapping her lip and trying not to smile at the way he's looking between her and the table.    

   

He lifts his head but keeps his gaze down as she takes her seat, but she can see his eyes flicking up, no more able to resist looking than she ever is. She wants to lift his head, but she can't decide how. It would be wonderful to grab him by the hair and slowly pull like he does to her, but wouldn't it be so nice to gently place a fingertip under his chin and give the slightest, softest push? She goes with option three instead, simply sitting back and petting him until he moves to bury his face in her lap.  

   

"Show me your cock, beautiful, let me see how much you want me." She whispers, the softest of commands for him.   

   

He moves up to his knees, pushing his pants down with one hand while holding his shirt up with the other. His head is down but he's looking up at her, his eyes lit with need. He's sweetly sinful as only he can be, blushing shyly and rock hard, burning her up until she's dripping as much as he.  

   

She watches him for a few moments, drawing it out to tease them both. "You are so lucky I have no talent, otherwise I'd be spending the night painting you in this state so I could carry you with me everywhere I go."   

   

That blushing laugh, the one she hasn't seen in far too long, but she doesn't need to hear it to know how delighted he is. His cock twitches and drips, keeping time with the beat of her heart.   

   

"That would go over well at the Landsmeet."   

   

"They don't deserve to see something this glorious, my love. I won't share with just anyone."   

   

She moves to the edge of the chair and reaches out to stroke his cheek, petting him softly until he turns to kiss her palm.   

   

 "You still want this, Alistair? You're sure?"   

   

"Yes. Please."   

   

His answer makes her smile, the simple breathless need going straight to her head. She takes the ribbon from her hair and leans forward, giving him a moment to catch what's coming before she wraps it around his cock. It's more than long enough to ladder up his shaft, to tie a small bow under the head and still leave a good tail for her to hold.    

  

By the time she's done his cock is throbbing and dripping and his breath is a deep rasp of desire. He's staring down at her handiwork, mesmerized in a way she can understand. She gives him a moment to admire it before tugging on the ribbon.    

  

"Look at me, lovely."   

   

He doesn't hesitate, but he still turns slowly, dragging his eyes away at the last moment. She knows the look on his face, knows the way it feels to wear it—his world is drawing down, condensing to this room, this moment of adventure, to the soft length of velvet the same color as her eyes. It's an intense feeling—erotic, frightening, and religiously ecstatic. She lets him sink into it, smiling softly and gently tugging the ribbon until he's wide open and thoroughly locked in.  


	3. Chapter 3

She leans down to give him a kiss and whisper against his mouth. "Stand up and fix your clothing, love. Pants up and tied, just make sure you leave my lead out."  

  

It only takes a few moments; there's not much to do and he's moving quickly. There's something brewing in his expression, but she can't yet tell what. It's either heavy excitement or the opposite. She detaches a little from the situation, trying to read him better. That's her biggest concern, that she'll miss a needed clue and wind up leaving a scar of some kind.   

  

He seems unable to look away from the dark blue velvet standing out proud against the flax linen of his pants. It's hard to miss, but so is his cock, pushing hard against the fabric. She steps up and places a finger under his chin, pressing just enough to let him know it's there. She waits patiently, watching closely. When he finally looks up she finds her answer easily enough.   

  

She slides her hand to the back of his neck to grip hard and pull him down for a kiss.  He doesn't need encouragement, getting his arms around her before she can. He kisses her hard enough to clink teeth and bump noses, but he doesn't stop, doesn't let up. He has one hand on her head and one on her lower back, holding her tight against him as he rubs his cock against her.  

  

She lets him go until his breathing changes to the deep, raspy-ragged sound that means he's ready to bend her over the closest surface. She pushes on him and moves her head back, holding tight to his head to keep him from moving with her. "Stop."  

  

He does, very reluctantly and with a little quiet groaning about it. That only delights her more. She wants to tweak his nuts and whisper about paybacks and how rough they can be. Instead she steps back and grabs her hair ribbon, holds it tight and starts walking.  

  

It's not much different from any market stroll, walking slowly and stopping every so often to give him parcels to carry for her: the baskets of food and wine and fresh flowers she always has in her room, all the candles and ribbons she can find, her hairbrush. The only difference: their location, the velvet leash she's leading him by, his silence. When she realizes he should be chattering away and isn't, she pulls her attention back to watch more closely. He's either following his own rule and waiting for her to speak first, or he has too much going on in his head. She thinks it's the latter; his look of captivated drowning suggests he's merely falling into submissive headspace.  

  

The last stop finds her adding a bundle of bandage rags and her smallest, sharpest knife. He pales briefly but it's gone in an instant, replaced with a deep blush, a flush of adrenalin and desire that leaves him shaking as he looks at her, wide-eyed and entranced. He steps towards her and she steps back quickly. If she gives him the chance to grab and kiss her, she won't be able to resist his desire to pin her to the wall.  

  

She leads him to the table, quickly now, as he's not the only one struggling against wicked, impatient impulses. That's probably her lesson for the night—the companion lesson for how to hold herself still and wait for his command is how to issue that command, how to sink into that deep headspace with him and still stay in charge.  

  

It's not surprising to find the most exhilarating part of what they're doing isn't Being In Charge, issuing the orders. It's seeing that dreamy, needy expression on his face and knowing she put it there, that she's giving him such intense pleasure. She's long suspected their power play really has little to do with power, or even sex. It's all about baring themselves completely and finding not only safe haven but complete acceptance and deep love. She wants nothing more than to give him that.  She can't resist cupping his face, drawing him down for soft, sweet kisses, keeping it up until he's moaning and clutching at her, but he never lets himself go completely. She's not sure if it's simple obedience or knowing she'll stop him as soon as he gets wound up. Either is good; she wants to save pushing him over the edge.  

  

"Take your clothes off, my sweet, and get comfortable on the table for me." There are things she could be doing while he strips but she can't make herself do any of them, can't turn away from watching him. She knows every inch of his skin, has been on a mission to kiss every bit of it, and it's still such a treat. Watching him undress feels like opening a gift.  

  

When he's settled in, she moves the chair, close enough to the table that she can reach out and touch him. She picks up the ribbon again and wraps it around her hand.  She doesn't pull it, doesn't do anything but hold her hand above his cock, patiently waiting.  

  

It doesn't take him long to figure out. She smiles when she sees his reaction, the way he flushes and lifts his hips before pulling back into himself. He doesn't shrink back, not really, but it's a close distinction. She gives him time, content to wait and watch him struggle.  

  

"Please."  

  

It's so soft she doesn't really hear it, she reads it on his lips. Sees it in his eyes, too, his need for her shining as bright as the sun. She smiles softly at his simple word and continues to wait. That's his first lesson from her—until now he's never had to ask her to do anything. She tries not to be bossy, but it's been a given, that she leads them from a to b to c by what she wants. Which usually involves their hands and mouths all over each other so it's not like he doesn't get what he wants, too.  

  

But he's never had to ask for it and now she's going to make him. She's willing to be patient, knowing firsthand how hard it is to ask for something you desperately need. It gets easier when you can trust the person you're asking, but so far, it's never been completely easy for her, even knowing how she always delights him.  

  

She reaches up to him, keeping her ribbon hand as still as possible, moved only by the beat of his cock. She pets him softly, stroking his cheeks and mouth. "Whatever will follow that please, know that I'm going to want it. That I'm going to smile from pure happiness, from how much I love you." 


	4. Chapter 4

When he closes his eyes, she resists telling him not to. She wants to read the story there, but she said it herself, he's allowed to hide as much as he wants. This is her lesson, too, isn't it? What they learn from these moments is never one-sided.  

  

"I don't know how to ask for this. You never do. We just always wind up there— that place that makes you look like you're drowning in holiness." He opens his eyes and impales her with hot need and dreamy desire. "When you look at me like I'm your only God."  

  

That's an answer she’s long waited for, to a question she's never asked. She's always wondered why he took to topping her so easily and well, why it's something he enjoys so much. He doesn't have a dominating personality; his default mode is always following her, so why does he enjoy seeing her kneel at his feet?  

  

Because when she does, he knows the depths of her devotion. He knows how truly committed she is. Which, if you're an unwanted orphan bastard, isn't that what you need more than anything? To know someone loves you that much? He needs to know that she won't leave. Won't abandon him to a life he never wanted.   

  

She would never have thought something written off as sex games could be such a profound and somehow fundamental way to express intimacy and devotion. But it’s no game. And the sex is only the finest serendipity.  

  

As is the way he looks, right now, kneeling proud and still managing to look so soft. She leans in to grip his neck and pull up on the ribbon, pulling him to her. She wraps her hand around his shaft and strokes slowly, dragging and pulling the ribbon to enhance the sensation. She knows how to touch him, knows what gets him off fast and hard. In no time she feels him tensing, his balls drawing up close and tight. She lets go and unwraps the ribbon from her hand, careful not to over stimulate him.   

  

"There is one more rule, darling: you can't come until I tell you to. Which means you're going to have to pay close attention and stop me before you do."  

  

He grins at her suddenly, so natural and easy she giggles in delight. "I had a feeling payback would be the only thing coming tonight."  

  

She laughs loud and bright, so bone deep happy she thinks she might just fall over dead from it. She has to throw her arms around his neck, give him big, grinning smooches. "Please don't ever stop making jokes; this is so much more fun when we laugh about it. Everything is."  

  

He laughs and kisses her back, and it’s not long before they're casting spells again, turning laughter into heat, love into something far closer to wildfire. For a moment she forgets what she's doing, what she's supposed to be doing, and climbs onto the table with him, to straddle his lap. She's feeling too impatient to draw things out until she remembers his feather soft  _please_.  

  

That gets her back to her chair, back to the matter at hand. She needs to give him more to hold on to, more than her worshipful gaze or that same gaze from another perspective.  She loves him as much in this moment as she does when their positions are reversed.  

  

She picks up the ribbon again and sits back in the chair, as relaxed and confident as a queen on her throne. The lead is long enough to reach easily without pulling, but that's not what she's after. She smiles sweetly at him and twirls the ribbon around her fingers, slowly wrapping it until she feels the drag. She keeps the same smile on her face and simply watches him. At first he lifts with it but it's not long before she sees him rock his hips backwards, increasing the pull. She wraps another loop around her hand and waits, letting him do what he wants.  

  

What he wants to do is clutch handfuls of velvet fabric and let his hips grind. She managed to get the ribbon tied just right, loose enough to work up and down his shaft without slipping off or digging in too tightly. Between that and the pillowy saddle he's rubbing his balls on he's sinking fast, losing himself in all of it. She pulls a bit harder and moves her legs to prop her feet on the table and bracket his knees as she watches him.  

  

"You are so beautiful like this." She was aiming for stern, but she can't quite pull it off, and sounds as hot and needy as he looks. It works out anyway, making him moan and thrust faster  

  

She watches closely, gauging how close he is. Just when she starts thinking she needs to intervene, he grips the velvet tight. He lifts his hips and leans forward, trying to disrupt the sensations. She gives him a moment and lessens her pull on the ribbon.  

  

"Remember how you said not to let you get too mean?" His voice is ragged and breathy, but there's no mistaking the humor in it.  

  

"Does it help to know I'm not just being mean? I have a specific purpose for this."  

  

He puts his hands on his head, holding them there like he's trying to hold his brain in. Which isn't too off the mark, she thinks, but he's grinning easily. "Do tell, my lady."  

  

Instead of answering, she sits up in the chair and unwraps the ribbon from her hand. She leans forward and holds the end up to his mouth, delighted to find it's long enough. "Bite this, lovey. Hold my lead for me."  

  

As he does the humor drops off him, leaving him serious, leaving him openly needy. As much as she loves it when he makes jokes, makes her laugh in what should be a far too serious situation, she's glad to see it go. Sometimes he just can't resist a good joke, but his humor is the shield he hides behind, and she doesn’t want that— not tonight. 

  

She leans up and kisses him, licking and nipping his lips until he's moaning and pushing his mouth against hers. As soon as he starts bucking his hips she stops, pulling back just enough to look at him.  

  

"Every time I tie that ribbon in my hair I'm going to remember how you look at this moment." She leans in for another slow, steamy kiss and slips her hand under the velvet, working it up until he's thrusting against her palm. "So will you, Alistair; it will be weeks before you stop getting instantly hard when you see this ribbon."


	5. Chapter 5

His reaction is everything she could ask for: one part ecstatic love, one part fever hot blush, topped off with a growl of purest lust. She can see it happen in his head, the moment he thinks he's done following for the night. He reaches out and grabs her, yanking her up to him as he lets the ribbon fall from his mouth. She lets him have his way, lets him kiss her with a feral intensity that leaves her as breathlessly desperate as he.  

  

She gets her hands free enough to pull her gown up and straddle his thick thigh, rocking against him like he had against the velvet covered pillows. When she has her rhythm, she grasps his balls, holding them down and away from his body so he can't come. He doesn't yet realize she's still in charge, but she'll remind him soon enough. But first she wants him to keep kissing her like it's the only thing that will save his life, so she can grind her wet cunt against his leg.   

  

He doesn't get beyond kissing her before she's rocking faster, one hand still holding his balls and one gripping the back of his neck as she comes all over his thigh. He gives her a moment to catch her breath, and as soon as she does he tries to lift her up to sit her on his cock.  

  

She puts her hand on his chest and pushes him away from her, quickly moving back to the chair. When he comes after her, she pushes his chest again, wondering if he's going to listen.  

  

"Stop, lovey. Sit back like my sweet angel." She doesn't sound stern and In Charge. She sounds shaky and amused and barely in control of herself, but it works. He doesn't sit back, but he stops. It’s enough. 

  

There's another lesson for her, how quickly things can get out of hand with them. She's not surprised to find she's not all that great at holding the reins like this. Not as good as he, at least. He makes controlling her seem effortless, and here she is floundering around because she can't control her impulses unless he's telling her to. But she's determined to see it through, for both their sake's.  There are too many valuable lessons yet to learn. She sits straighter and waits patiently for him to kneel back.  

  

She picks up the ribbon and holds it to his mouth, cooing happily as he falls right back into letting her have her way.  It only takes a moment to get everything else back like it was, one hand under the velvet to press against his shaft, one gently cupping the back of his neck. She even straddles his leg again but makes herself sit still.  

  

"Do you still want to know why I've been pulling you back?"  

  

He can't speak without dropping the ribbon so he nods carefully, enough to tell her he's pretty close to the edge.   

  

She holds his gaze as softly as his cheek, drawing it out only to settle herself in the right place, to find the courage to lead him where he really wants to go: into his deepest, darkest heart of hearts, where he's nothing but need and love, a desperate need to be loved. The only way to do that is to go there herself.  

  

"I'm not trying to teach you any kind of lesson with this. I'm not trying to lead you by physical need or pain. I just want your balls filled to the brim, so I can watch you cover this fabric with your come."  

  

"But you bought this for a dress."   

  

He has managed to talk without dropping the ribbon from between his teeth, and it pleases her. "And I still have every intention of having one made."  

  

She moves her hand under the fabric, cupping it to make a tunnel around his cock. She keeps her hand still as she leans in to give him soft kisses, to watch closely as she whispers to him. "Fuck this velvet like you would me, so when you see me wearing the dress it will become, you'll remember how it feels to come for me like this, so you'll know I love you so much I want to clothe myself in the thought of you.” 

  

And there's the look, spreading slowly as he opens up for her. He gasps hard enough to drop the ribbon from his mouth, like she just stabbed him in the heart, but even as he recovers, a grin spreads across his face. It's a heady thing to see— such total devotion mixed with unmistakable, unshakeable humor and delight.  

  

"I don't know if that's sweet or wicked." His voice mirrors his eyes, deep, raspy lust woven together with bright laughter.   

  

"Think how wicked it will be when I wear it to Chantry service. You'll have to sit through that without getting hard." She's trying to be stern, to find the reins once more and remember what she's supposed to be doing. It isn't working; the way he's looking at her has her ready to cry, or laugh, maybe both because how can she even function when he's looking at her with such pure adoration?  

  

He lets his hands mirror hers, one on the back of her neck, one over her fabric draped hand. He squeezes both as he thrusts up, finding the beat of her heart and matching to it.   

  

"I'm not letting you go. You know that, right?" He sounds both determined and frightened, like he expects her to laugh or something, pull away somehow.  

  

It breaks her heart a little, that after so much time he still has trouble convincing himself she won't leave him. It helps her center herself, though, because isn't that exactly the curse this evening's magic is supposed to break? She grips him tighter and leans in, watching closely as she whispers against his lips. "Why do you think we're going to carve our initials into each other, darling? You're going to be stuck with me forever."  

  

He clamps down, hard and fast enough to make her think he's not really aware of just how hard. Her fingers grind against each other and she feels the bruise already blooming on her neck, but she makes no move to stop him, or even alert him. She doesn't even want to breathe, doesn't want anything to distract him from what he's going to say.  

  

"You're sure about that?"  

  

"Yes. Please." She could say more, but what else matters?  

  

He slides his hand down to grasp her hip. He holds tight and pulls just a little, enough to tell her what he wants. She smiles and wiggles down, getting comfortable on his thigh again.  

  

"Come with me, my love."  

  

He could mean that any number of ways but they all have the same answer, don't they? She rocks on his leg and strokes his cock, laughing through her tears. "Always."  

  

And then there are no more words, only sounds, hot breaths and deep moans as they grind and thrust, fusing their hearts together as surely as their bodies.  

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Head Over Heels - Tears For Fears
> 
>  
> 
> *Well now I need to re-write Flex, cos this changes everything about her tying the ribbon on his arm.


End file.
